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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22725778">north american bird anthology</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdjay/pseuds/birdjay'>birdjay</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Prompt Fill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 16:28:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,955</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22725778</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdjay/pseuds/birdjay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>a selection of short prompt fills from twitter -- most less than 1k.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>From time to time on Twitter, I'll post prompt memes. Every chapter in this a prompt fill from from one of those memes. Every single one is unbetaed, and most of them are just plain short or goofy. I thought I'd put them here just to keep them somewhere, all in one place. If you're looking to somehow give me a prompt off a meme one day, please give me a follow at <a href="https://twitter.com/bbirdjay">bbirdjay</a>.</p><p>If you see something that needs to be tagged for trigger warning reasons, please let me know. Otherwise, I'm not going to be tagging anything in particular.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>“I LOVE YOU AND I LIKE YOU” for softestbuck </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Growing up, Bucky’s mom had a very particular way to tell him that he was in trouble. Nowadays just the memory of it tends to make him laugh, but back then, it'd been a little crushing to hear. Whenever he’d get into something, or if he teased his sisters too much, Winnifred Barnes would pull him to the side and sit him down. She’d stand over him, put both her hands on his shoulders and look him in the eye. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“James Barnes,” she’d say, voice deadly serious. “I love you to the ends of the earth. But right now, I don’t like you very much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she’d first said that to him, his heart broke. He’d disappointed his mother, and now she didn’t like him anymore. But then Winnie had explained it. Love was permanent in her eyes. She’d love her son forever. Til the sun burnt out and the tides overcame the earth. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the other hand, like was fleeting. Not everybody liked everybody else the same all the time. Like was </span>
  <em>
    <span>earned</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Like was fleeting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky had taken that to heart, filed that knowledge away in the back of his brain for another day. He’d earned his mother’s like back, of course he did. But he’d lose it again in a week or two. Cycle in, cycle out. Winnie was used to it, raising a boy like Bucky. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So when Steve comes home, battered and bruised, after another fight with the assorted Avengers, Bucky knows exactly how his mother felt. He loves Steve, will always love him, with all of himself, but goddammit he doesn’t like him very much right now. Steve didn’t have to fight anymore. He didn’t have to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>anymore. Steve had given the world enough of himself. He chose this. Chose to make Bucky worry day in and day out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Buck,” Steve says, pleading. His teeth are a little bloody around the edges -- he got smacked in the mouth at some point. There’s bruising around his left eye, and he’s holding his arm a little close to his side for Bucky’s liking. “You okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Bucky says, a little short. “You aren’t, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve shrugs, wincing immediately. “I’ll heal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky sighs through his nose. He knows Steve will heal. That doesn’t matter. He didn’t have to get hurt to begin with. He moves, grabs the first aid kit and starts pulling out what he’ll need to clean Steve up and patch him back together. This is his job. It’s always been his job, and no matter how much he complains, Bucky would never let someone else do it. No one else would take as good of care. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I saved a little girl,” Steve says, under his breath. “Yanked her under me so she didn’t get hit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky stops what he’s doing, and lifts his gaze to Steve’s face. He looks a little flat, like he’s dazed. But there’s pride there, right at the edges of his smile. He knows, suddenly, that Steve could no more put away his shield, than he could give up his left hand. This is who he is. This is his Steve, through and through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky smiles at him, soft and without teeth. “I’m proud of you,” he says, quietly. He presses a pad of bandage to a cut on Steve’s knuckles. Steve hisses at the sting of peroxide. Bucky ignores him, and keeps cleaning the small wound. “I’m proud of you,” Bucky repeats, for emphasis. “And god, do I love you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve looks at him, eyes huge in his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you, and I like you,” Bucky says, softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve, who knows very well what that means, lets out a rough breath.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>HOLDING HANDS for wishingwell44</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s something Steve will never take for granted -- the ability to walk down the street hand in hand with the love of his life. Back in their own time -- the time they were born into -- they never, ever would have gotten away with it. They barely got away with Bucky throwing his arm over his shoulder. They woulda been beat, woulda been killed, arrested, shunned. All sorts of absolutely horrible things...just for holding hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They would have deserved none of it, of course. Just like all the other men and women who’d been in the same situation. What was so wrong with their love? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve shook himself. Dragging himself back to the present.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They weren’t in their own time anymore. They’d been pulled into the future by circumstance, cruel unimaginable things, and most of all, sheer dumb luck. They’d ended up here </span>
  <em>
    <span>together</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Steve would never stop being thankful for it. He wasn’t thankful for what Bucky had gone through. Hell no. But he’d never, ever be ungrateful that they were together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Here. Right now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steve?” Bucky says, in an impatient voice. It sounds like maybe he’s been calling his name more than a few times. Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand in his own, pulling them to a stop mid-stride. He turns and ducks his head a little to get into Steve’s line of sight. Concern is visible on his face. “Hey, are you okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, sorry,” Steve says, a faint smile on his face. “I was just...thinking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well stop,” Bucky says, with a soft laugh. “You’ll hurt yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve wrinkles his nose at him, and tugs him closer. Close enough to press his mouth to Bucky’s. Bucky laughs into the kiss, happy as he’s ever been. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve feels the same way.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>VALENTINE’S DAY GONE WRONG for brideofquiet</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Steve says, looking sheepish. He pulls at his tie, tugging at loop around his neck like it’s too tight. Bucky had insisted they dress up for dinner tonight. He’d also picked out exactly what Steve was supposed to wear. He didn’t mind so much the grey suit -- it had been tailored to fit him exactly -- but he wasn’t so sure about the tie. Bright pink and covered in teeny tiny red hearts, it’s a little more flashy than he’s used to. “So it’s not where I wanted to take you…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky, amused and a just a tiny little bit annoyed, raises one eyebrow. “I sure as hell hope you didn’t mean to take me here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t,” Steve says, in a hushed whisper. He drags one hand over his face. Five Guys was definitely 100% not where Steve meant to take Bucky for their Valentine’s Day dinner date. Hell no. He’d made reservations at that place Pepper had recommended, but when they’d shown up at the specified time the hostess had claimed they had no such name on their list. Steve had even tried calling Pepper -- as a last resort -- to see if she had some magic she could work. But she didn’t -- the restaurant simply did not have the room for them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So they’d left, dejected and starving. Steve had let Bucky trail him all over the city, trying to find a decent place for dinner. Everywhere had been full. Every. Single. Place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except Five Guys.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky had begrudgingly agreed to dinner there -- mostly because they were both starting to get hangry. They’d placed their order, and then squashed themselves into a booth by the wall. They were criminally overdressed -- suit and tie on him, and a red silk shirt and tight black trousers on Bucky -- but whatever. Food was food at this point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re lucky you’re so pretty,” Bucky says, flashing a smile as he dips a handful of french fries into his ketchup. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh huh,” Steve says, before shoving the first of his three burgers into his mouth. He knows he’s going to be making up for this for a long time, or at the very least tonight in bed. He won’t mind that bit at all</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re also lucky this place is actually good,” Bucky adds, his smile growing. He nudges Steve’s leg with the pointed toe of his loafer. He watches Steve eat for a moment, and then lets out a soft laugh. “I’m not actually mad, Steve. You know that right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve blinks at him, looking dubious as he chews silently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I promise, bun,” Bucky says, soft. “I love you even if you make me eat Five Guys for Valentine’s Day.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>"OH, YOU CAN SHARE MY UMBRELLA" FOR DEISDERIUM </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Steve stares out the library window, frown etching deeper and deeper onto his face. It’s pouring out. It’s a deluge, really, the sidewalks and streets more than a little flooded as the rain continues to beat down. It wasn’t raining when he got here, that was for sure, but that was over five hours ago. He’s been nose deep in the library’s copies of the art history books he needed for the semester, trying to study for the final tomorrow. He hadn’t been able to buy the books -- not to keep. They ran upwards of $200, and he could barely scrounge up enough cash to buy food each week. The textbooks he could manage without. Especially since the campus library had copies. He just had to be sure to spend the time there every week, to read and reread what his professor had assigned. </p><p>All that was fine. He’d been doing great all semester in this arrangement. But now, now the weather was really putting a hole in his plans. Thing was -- he <em> walked </em> here from his dorm, which was literally across campus. Fuck.</p><p>Steve pressed his forehead against the window, and let out an enormous sigh. He and his backpack were going to have to get wet, weren’t they?</p><p>“D’you live on campus?”</p><p>Steve looks up and over and meets eyes with the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen. He’s a little short than him, but with long brown hair and beautiful grey eyes that manage to sparkle even in the fluorescent lights of the library. The guy smiles then, huge and wide.</p><p>“Uh,” Steve says, momentarily blinded by sheer beauty. “Yeah, yeah I do.”</p><p>The guy looks hopeful then, though about what Steve’s not sure. “Phillips Hall, by any chance?”</p><p>Steve blinks, surprised. “Yeah, actually."</p><p>“Wanna share my umbrella? It’s one of those golf ones. Real big.” Sure enough, there’s a huge closed umbrella leaning against his legs. It’s green and white, not particularly pretty, but Steve’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially not one handed to him by someone as gorgeous as this guy is.</p><p>Steve smiles then, warmth sliding down his spine. “I’d love that, actually.”</p><p>The guy positively beams at him then, and holds out a hand. “I’m Bucky.”</p><p>Steve takes it, shakes it once, and says,  “Nice to meet you, Bucky. I’m Steve.”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>"YOU'RE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PERSON I'VE EVER SEEN" FOR SMALLREPRIEVES </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve has been waiting for approximately two hours for Bucky to finally emerge from their bedroom. He’s been ready and dressed for the whole time, hair done, tie done up and pocket square tucked in. There is literally nothing else he has to do to be ready for this stupid party. They’d gotten invited to a bash at Tony and Pepper’s. Bucky hadn’t really wanted to go until Steve had mentioned it was black tie, then he couldn’t say yes fast enough. Steve’s not sure what’s so great about events like this -- he </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates</span>
  </em>
  <span> wearing tuxes. But if it made Bucky light up like the Fourth of July then, well, he’d suffer gladly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you even remotely close to being done, doll?” Steve asks, pressing his forehead against the bathroom door. “The party starts in twenty minutes and it’s gonna take longer than that to even get there!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost, almost!” Bucky chirps on the other side of the door. Steve can hear various bottles clacking together, then the hairdryer kicks up. Steve lets his head thunk against the door again. He loves his husband, he really really does, but at times like this he wants to strangle him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve huffs out a sigh and trails his way back out towards the living room. He sits on the edge of the couch -- to avoid dog hair on his pants -- and reaches for one of Bucky’s magazines that’s been left on the coffee table. He’s halfway through an article about The Rock when he finally hears the bathroom door open. He lifts his head up, barely, and waits for Bucky to come around the corner. When he does, Steve can’t quite get a breath in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky is gorgeous. His hair has been half-braided back in some complicated hairstyle, the rest curled lightly at the ends. There’s hints of eyeliner just barely around his pale grey eyes, and well, the tux he’d picked out had raised Steve’s eyebrows at the store but now he had absolutely no complaints. It was dark dark navy with black brocade lapels. The pants and shirt he wore were also black, the pants almost skin tight against his thick thighs. There was a thin stripe of satinly black down the hems of each pant leg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve wanted to lick him from head to toe, then tear the suit off him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well?” Bucky asks, doing a little twirl in place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” Steve says, completely serious. He stands, and closes the distance between them in as few steps as possible. He raises a hand between them, and cups Bucky’s cheek in his palm before kissing him softly. “God, Buck.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky turns pink, pleased as punch at Steve’s reaction. He kisses him back, and then whispers, “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <b>PARIS + CLOUDS </b>
  <span>for </span>
  <b>glim</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It hurts to think how much has changed in the seventy-odd years since they’d first been to Paris. There’d been a war on the first time they’d stepped foot on these cobblestone streets. The war was over now, and here they were, standing on the same streets, feeling a little lost. Steve stared up at the sky, watching gauzy clouds slowly drift by the tip of the Eiffel Tower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What sort of life were they going to live now that fighting was no longer a necessity?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Bucky says, looking up from his phone. He smiles, lifting the device to wiggle the screen at Steve. Steve looks down just in time to see the website for the Louvre pulled up, pictures of famous art pieces blinking by slowly. “I made you a promise a long time ago,” Bucky says, moving closer to knock his shoulder against Steve’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did,” Steve says, happiness swooping low in his stomach. They’d been young, and dumb, and in love. They’d been covered in dirt, and muck, and blood. They’d been starving, wounded, and flat-out exhausted. And still, the one thing Bucky had truly been upset about was the fact that he couldn’t take Steve to the greatest art museum in the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m cashin’ in the promise now,” Bucky says, hooking his arm through Steve’s. “I already bought the tickets. C’mon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>TEXAS + CHAPS</b>
  <span> for em</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Bucky says, immediately after Steve walks out of the dressing room. He’s sitting on one of those leathery poof-things just outside, one leg folded across the other. He shakes his head. “No. No, you know what, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve blinks at him, before looking down at himself. He’s got on, much to his own chagrin, a red button down with black piping, tighter than tight black jeans, and over them, soft suede-like leather chaps with fringe all down the hem. He had </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> picked out his own outfit, thanks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You made me try these on,” Steve points out, crossing his arms over his chest. “You said ‘when in Rome.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and now I’m changing my mind,” Bucky quickly says, eyes wide. “Go take them off.” He waves him back towards the dressing room, like a king dismissing his subjects.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve squints at him. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>like </span>
  </em>
  <span>this, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! No, absolutely not. I do not. No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laughter bubbles up out of him before he can stop it. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Steve quotes, between giggles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A boot gets thrown at him for his trouble.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>ALASKA + BEAR</b>
  <span> for gabe</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s cold here,” Bucky whines, for approximately the thirtieth time that morning. They were supposedly on vacation, this time in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alaska </span>
  </em>
  <span>of all places, on Natasha’s recommendation. She’d said it was beautiful out here, that everyone needed to experience this at least once in their lives. They’d rented a cabin out in the middle of nowhere, intent on going on hikes and cooking food over a wood stove.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve was regretting everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cabin’s main source of heat is the aforementioned wood stove. Steve had chopped what he thought was enough wood the first night. It was not enough. Not even by half. The rapidly decreasing pile by the stove was depressing. It meant that one of them had to bundle up enough to go outside and chop </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky sure as hell wasn’t volunteering. He was buried under all six blankets they’d found in the closet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, Buck. Can I at least put my pants on before I go chop more wood?” Steve asks, rolling out of bed to shove his feet into his jeans. He’d work up enough of a sweat that he didn’t bother putting on the snow pants. He tugs on his boots, before looking up. “Keep my spot warm, will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky nods. Or at least, the blankets move enough that Steve suspects that he nods. He moves to the door, opens it, stares out for half a second, and then immediately slams it shut. It rattles the windows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bear,” he says, in a high voice. “There’s a bear. Right. Outside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a beat, and then Bucky’s head pops out from under the blankets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
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